scheme to have him bracketed to the brazen infant with the atrocious haircut and quite lovely legs.
He closed his eyes, counting swiftly to ten, reminding himself that he didn’t really care about Caledonia Johnston’s legs, lovely or not. Or about her wide, clear green eyes, or her high cheekbones, or that particularly attractive husky voice she employed to say so many outrageous, incomprehensible things. He’d much rather console himself with the knowledge that she was flat-chested as any ten-year-old. “All right then, Miss Caledonia Johnston, we’ll try again. Why did you want to shoot Filton in the knee, crippling him?”
“Wouldn’t keep calling her Caledonia if I was you,” Lester interjected helpfully, so that Simon belatedly noticed that Miss Johnston’s hands had been drawn up into fists in her lap. “She shoved Rupert Almstead into the pond last summer for calling her that, and it was his birthday.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Simon asked, secretly agreeing that it was atrocious. But, then, Callie didn’t seem to be much of an improvement. “I assume, as it’s the Latin name for Scotland, that your forebears Callie from there?”
“One might assume that,” Callie answered with an expressive shrug of her slim shoulders, “except that it’s not true. My father simply liked the name, as he greatly enjoys salmon fishing in Scotland. I’m only relieved he wasn’t fond of the hunting fields of Milton. I’ve learned to forgive him, but not those who’d dare to address me as Caledonia once they’re aware of my feelings on the subject. Rupert Almstead had been warned, and foolishly chose to ignore the warning. You’re many things, my lord, but I have yet to believe you are foolish. But, then,” she ended, smiling quite evilly for an innocent young girl, “it’s early days yet, isn’t it?”
She then slapped her hands on her knees and rose to her feet once more, walking across the floor to stand in front of the drinks table, lifting the decanter of sherry and splashing some of its contents into a glass. Taking a small sip after raising the glass in a mocking salute to Simon, she then said, “As you can’t seem to bring yourself to the point, my lord, how about you just sit down like a nice London gentleman and allow me to tell you what I believe you want to know? Things will go much more quickly, and your servants can then stop hiding, behind the archway, their pointy noses visible from here, and get back to work. Besides, there are two horses tied up near the Green Man, and I worry about them.”
Simon had never seen such arrogance directed at him, such—as his mother had termed it— cheek from a young woman. From a young man. From anyone of his acquaintance. Surprisingly, he found himself amused by Caledonia Johnston’s confident swagger, even by the small shiver of distaste she nearly hid as her palate reacted to what he was sure had been her very first sip of sherry.
He gave in to Callie’s suggestion, sitting himself down and gesturing for her to explain what, to him, seemed to have become the unexplainable.
Still holding the glass in her long, thin fingers—although she did not take another sip of its contents—Callie began pacing the carpet, one foot very deliberately brought forth after the other, heel rolling to toe for the space of ten steps before she executed a sharp about-face and came to a halt, just in time to see Simon ogling her long, straight legs, unfortunately.
“If I might have your attention?” she prompted, letting him know that she had caught him looking at her, the impudent, brattish infant! “Now, I imagine I shall have to begin at the beginning, yes?”
“As that is the first logical statement you’ve uttered since I was so unfortunate as to make your acquaintance, Miss Johnston,” Simon drawled, “I’d have to agree.”
“The gel’s right, son,” Imogene broke in. “You do talk too much. Now dub your mummer and let her get on with
He closed his eyes, counting swiftly to ten, reminding himself that he didn’t really care about Caledonia Johnston’s legs, lovely or not. Or about her wide, clear green eyes, or her high cheekbones, or that particularly attractive husky voice she employed to say so many outrageous, incomprehensible things. He’d much rather console himself with the knowledge that she was flat-chested as any ten-year-old. “All right then, Miss Caledonia Johnston, we’ll try again. Why did you want to shoot Filton in the knee, crippling him?”
“Wouldn’t keep calling her Caledonia if I was you,” Lester interjected helpfully, so that Simon belatedly noticed that Miss Johnston’s hands had been drawn up into fists in her lap. “She shoved Rupert Almstead into the pond last summer for calling her that, and it was his birthday.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Simon asked, secretly agreeing that it was atrocious. But, then, Callie didn’t seem to be much of an improvement. “I assume, as it’s the Latin name for Scotland, that your forebears Callie from there?”
“One might assume that,” Callie answered with an expressive shrug of her slim shoulders, “except that it’s not true. My father simply liked the name, as he greatly enjoys salmon fishing in Scotland. I’m only relieved he wasn’t fond of the hunting fields of Milton. I’ve learned to forgive him, but not those who’d dare to address me as Caledonia once they’re aware of my feelings on the subject. Rupert Almstead had been warned, and foolishly chose to ignore the warning. You’re many things, my lord, but I have yet to believe you are foolish. But, then,” she ended, smiling quite evilly for an innocent young girl, “it’s early days yet, isn’t it?”
She then slapped her hands on her knees and rose to her feet once more, walking across the floor to stand in front of the drinks table, lifting the decanter of sherry and splashing some of its contents into a glass. Taking a small sip after raising the glass in a mocking salute to Simon, she then said, “As you can’t seem to bring yourself to the point, my lord, how about you just sit down like a nice London gentleman and allow me to tell you what I believe you want to know? Things will go much more quickly, and your servants can then stop hiding, behind the archway, their pointy noses visible from here, and get back to work. Besides, there are two horses tied up near the Green Man, and I worry about them.”
Simon had never seen such arrogance directed at him, such—as his mother had termed it— cheek from a young woman. From a young man. From anyone of his acquaintance. Surprisingly, he found himself amused by Caledonia Johnston’s confident swagger, even by the small shiver of distaste she nearly hid as her palate reacted to what he was sure had been her very first sip of sherry.
He gave in to Callie’s suggestion, sitting himself down and gesturing for her to explain what, to him, seemed to have become the unexplainable.
Still holding the glass in her long, thin fingers—although she did not take another sip of its contents—Callie began pacing the carpet, one foot very deliberately brought forth after the other, heel rolling to toe for the space of ten steps before she executed a sharp about-face and came to a halt, just in time to see Simon ogling her long, straight legs, unfortunately.
“If I might have your attention?” she prompted, letting him know that she had caught him looking at her, the impudent, brattish infant! “Now, I imagine I shall have to begin at the beginning, yes?”
“As that is the first logical statement you’ve uttered since I was so unfortunate as to make your acquaintance, Miss Johnston,” Simon drawled, “I’d have to agree.”
“The gel’s right, son,” Imogene broke in. “You do talk too much. Now dub your mummer and let her get on with
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